


A Cautionary Tale

by orphan_account



Series: Guardians of the Heart [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Soldiers, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Guardian Angels, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Romance, Not really following canon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Song fic, Street smarts, Tags May Change, War, but they’re not angels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Guardians- beings that are in charge of watching over each human. They are not angels, no, never those. They watch from beyond, forbidden to interact directly with their wards.And Techno’s life is so shit that he gets stuck with two cast-out guardians in his head. How? Don’t ask him, he never wanted this.(AKA: His guardians are Chat)
Series: Guardians of the Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095899
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Hi, hola, bonjour, all that good stuff. This is based off a song! “A Cautionary Tale” from the musical Mean Girls.  
> First things first, you should know that all guardians are non-binary and I do not plan on changing that anytime soon. If that makes you uncomfortable for some reason, I’m sorry. 
> 
> Anyways, I’ve never written anything like this before so sorry in advance if it gets confusing or there are spelling/grammatical mistakes. I don’t really have an upload schedule right now, and i’ve got midterms fast approaching so bear with me please.
> 
> Love you, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World building... is hard.

Two guardians silently watch as their ward aggressively cuts down everything and everyone in their way, looking ecstatic with blood covering every part of them, a wild grin plastered on their face and unruly pink hair flowing behind them. They stand together, away from the rest of the guardians at this “meeting”, refusing to acknowledge the taunts of those who pass by them.

_“Look at them,” they scoff, looking down their noses at the pair when they walk by. “Fuck, look at you squirm,“ They laugh as they slash, bite and kick, pulling screams from their bodies; bodies unable to fight back for fear of further punishment. They always look at the others, giggling. “Can’t even keep a single ward alive, huh?” they sneer, “You don’t belong here,” they whisper._

“They always say the same things,” One guardian states as yet another drunk guardian hollers and throws a glass of... some kind of liquid at them, both moving swiftly out of the way.

They glance up to their counterpart, their fire-ridden locks tumbling down their back brushing softly against their sun-missed skin as they flip it over their shoulder haughtily; the dark crown glistening with bright white jewels on their head not moving an inch with the action.

“It’s terribly bothersome” they smirk, their razor sharp teeth bared in anger through pink lips shown to the world for a terrifying second.

With their crown sitting upon their head, loose thin white tunic accompanied by a brown leather corset and their dark pants folded into a pair of brown boots; they looked frighteningly regal in a way only understood by those who have faced similar failures and consequences.

Their partner, a tall, bat-winged creature whose dark appearance and clothing choices of a black as night reapers cloak ( _embroidered with words written in a language long forgotten even by guardians adorning it_ ), stark bone white crown encrusted with dark colored gems and a blank black mask covering their face that causes even other guardians to steer clear of, merely huffs in acknowledgement and focuses their attention back to the table from which they continue to stare at the battle being shown on the table in front of them.

Across from them, the other guardians place bets, laughing and drinking. The two guardians aren’t the only ones with a ward or two fighting in this battle, but they do seem to be the only ones worrying for their ward.

Of course, their ward is strong and does not need (and would not appreciate or welcome) their worry, but they are also a _child_ ; someone who should not be this experienced in battle, nor should they crave the feelings that come with it. One will worry when one is in charge of the safety and guidance of a life, especially one that constantly throws themselves headfirst into danger.

At least, that’s what the fiery haired guardian says to themselves as they bite their lip harshly when a stray arrow nearly pierces their wards armor. They’ve not had a ward in so long... and as the urge to go down to Earth to care for their ward (and snap some sense into them for being reckless, because damn it, they’re going to give them a heart attack at this rate) becomes increasingly hard to resist, so does the physical grip their leader has on them. The feeling of being weighed down worsens every day, their mental strength weakening with it.

They could easily break it, but the possibility of a far worse punishment than last time and the thought of their new partner stops them. To be honest, they understand why they must be watched, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t sometimes loathe the system. They just don’t want their ward to go through even more pain than they have already, is that too much to ask?


	2. War, man

When Techno was small and living in the streets, he had a friend. They weren’t real of course, but they were there and he always thanked them for it. They were his height, with fluffy brown hair and a lopsided smirk permanently on their face. He used to call them Will, a name he had heard on a butcher's tongue when he had come in to steal some of the meat they had hanging in their freezer.

He had Will when no one wanted to hang around a young kid in the wild city he grew up in. Violence was everywhere. He was born into violence. Quite literally, as the woman who gave birth to him gave birth on the battlefield while the man she was married to stood outside, warding off potential threats (He refused to call them his parents after learning what real parents are supposed to be like). 

He grew up on the streets, not in a home. He grew up in extreme cold, with no one there to help chase it away. 

He didn't… blame them, per say. They had it rough from what he remembers. The war had taken everything from them, and added a new mouth to feed on top. 

He just wishes that they hadn’t hurt him the way they did. All the way up until the day they died. 

He loved the feeling of freedom he got when he walked on non-broken bones each day after their death. He loved being able to only need bandages for small scrapes he got when he fell over from running. He loved not hurting every day.

Now, Techno’s older, now twelve years of age. He’s more experienced in the ways of the world; in the ways of war. Because as far as he knows, the only language in this world is violence. Even at such a young age. 

Will’s gone now, blown away to dust once he turned eight and started fighting with real, proper, and stolen weapons. He didn’t need a friend anymore- he needed to be strong. 

Strong enough to win the current war his country was in. Strong enough to survive. 

—— —— —— 

Techno was winning. Or, as much as one can be winning in the middle of a battlefield no one stopped him from getting on. He could feel the wind slice his cheeks, his hair whip around in the air as he moved, his throat burn from the magical laughter it produced after each slaughter (because that was what this was- a slaughtering). 

He honestly wasn’t sure where the rest of the people from his country were. He might have gotten rid of them a while back, but he couldn’t be sure. He was running on nothing but adrenaline, his heart pumping and blood in his ears. 

At some point, a few people stood on the sides of him, a good distance away lest he decide they weren’t helping. He felt like he recognized one of the people, but doesn’t know where he would know them from, and lets it go. 

As night falls, so do the attacks. He never turns away from the battlefield, but he does make a small fire off the sides of what he assumes to be a camp but can’t quite tell from the distance he sits away. 

He makes food, cooked potatoes obviously, and settles in against a tree to watch the battlefield. He doesn’t see or hear any movement, but with no one else there to get a second opinion from, he simply continues to watch in silence.

And kept watching.

For hours.

He’s incredibly bored and there’s something whispering in the back of his mind...

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHH so I hope you aren’t too confused, if you are please let me know in the comments, it would mean a lot! :)
> 
> Have a great day!!


End file.
